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While there were a couple rest days, Ms Gu and I got on the hill for a least a few hours a day — enough for some laps to work on technique or spending some time in the trees. Besides skiing, we helped out at Hotel Moc by driving guests or helping with anything in English.

Gu’s snowboarding got much better this year. Last year was her first time on black runs and, by the end, she was starting with some off-piste powder. This year she got verifiably hooked on powder thanks to an epic day at Arai.

Each season I try to check-out at least one new resort. This year we went to the newly-opened Lotte Arai resort. The Lotte group (a huge Korean company) bought the Arai resort, which had been closed since 2006, renovated it, and re-opened it for 2017/18 season. The resort is on Mount Okenashi (大毛無山) which literally means big no fur mountain, named as such because it lacks trees on top. The semi-alpine area was a nice change from Myoko which is all below the tree line, and they have several avalanche-controlled areas for powder skiing. It’s Japow heaven.

Gu and I had an epic day at Arai. Firstly, it was a powder day. Secondly, the resort was basically empty — maybe 30 guests. We had a full day of the holy trinity: fresh, steep & deep. If anyone is looking for a week of powder skiing, I’d zip over to Arai while it’s still a ghost town (there’s a shuttle from Myoko as well).

Other than that, we played Japanese Mahjong with the other staff at Hotel Moc, went to a fancyFrench restaurant in the middle of nowhere in Joetsu, had a date night in Nagano at an Italian bar, had tasty tempura with Pon & Yuuka, received ski-lessons from an old ski expert (Takayasu) who stressed the importance of one’s pinky toe, became friends with Sami, one of the University students working at the hotel during winter break who also volunteers as a Kyoto greeter, and got Gu into the backcountry for the first time.

明けましておめでとう means happy new year, and it has definitely been a happy new year thus far. My friends in Tokyo that I usually meet once or twice a year invited me to join them at their friend’s family home in Gotemba, Shizuoka prefecture for New Year’s. To be fair, I asked them for recommendations on what to do for New Year’s secretly hoping they would invite me somewhere awesome. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but we caught a coach bus for about an hour out of Tokyo with our friends (Kanako and Satoshi) and our host’s girlfriend (Yuka) who was kind enough for bring beer for the bus trip.

Our host, Ryuu-chan, is a photographer with a penchant for kimono’s. A male kimono is a looser, more drab version of the colourful female kimono that people are generally more familiar with, so Ryuu-chan looks like a samurai wielding a camera instead of a sword.

Ryuu-chan’s family home is a traditional style home with sliding doors that separate all the rooms. This style of home doesn’t have central heating, so a portable kerosene heater is used for any occupied rooms. To keep things extra toasty, and to allow for liberal chances of playing footsie, we all sat around a low table that has a built-in heater. This type of table is called a kotatsu.

That night, we went to a local shinto shrine to inform the shinto gods of our wishes for 2017 — bow-bow-clap-clap-bow. We were offered, and gladly accepted, warm sake, namazake, dried squid, and tiny salamis. For me, this was reminiscent of my first time in Myokokogen.

The next morning, I woke up and poked my head outside, and, boom, there’s mount Fuji. We arrived at night, so I hadn’t realized just how close we were to Mt Fuji. Needless to say the symmetrical snow cone that is Fuji-san was an inspirational scene for the first day of 2017.

Since my lovely girlfriend, Ms Gu, finished her culinary program and is currently awaiting a work visa, we were able to come together to the Myokokogen ski area. Also, since she was able to come, we decided to stay for the whole ski season. It’s been a slow start to the season snow-wise, but I’ve got my fingers crossed.

After departing Shizuoka prefecture, we went to Yokohama. There we visited the Cup Noodle Museum and the Ramen Museum. In general, it was a noodle-heavy experience. Next we went to Kamakura, which is a common day trip from Tokyo. Kamakura is a beach-town with lots of temples — you routinely see bikes with side-carriers for surfboards.

Catching up to present time, Ms Gu and I have been in Myokokogen since Thursday and are settling in nicely. Here’s hoping yuki-kami-sama (god of snow) hears our prayers — campai!

On Gwangalli Beach in Busan, South Korea, old ladies sell fireworks on the beach. In Korea, old ladies are basically a separate class of citizen. They’re rough, tough, drive a hard bargain, and perennially have short permed hair. Usually wearing colourful hiking clothes, they will elbow passed you on the street and push you out of the way on the metro. They are called ajumma.

When I went looking for an ajumma to buy some fireworks on the beach, the first one who approached me offered 4 roman candles for $20 — a blatant rip off. Our new-found Korean friend from the hostel, Charlie, came over and started the process of serious negotiation. The ajumma was pretty pissed that her simpleton white-boy target suddenly had local backup. After we walked away from the negotiations, she came back to the table with an offer of 4 roman candles plus 4 bigger fireworks for the same price.

After we paid, the ajumma pulled the fireworks out of hiding spots in the sand. The fireworks were totally hidden, but she deftly plucked them from their shallow graves without having to search or shift at all. Perhaps the police have started cracking down on the practice as these precautions were new to me.

At night, Gwangalli is a very romantic spot. Strolling couples take selfies with the bridge lights shining off the water. On the boardwalk, young musicians perform acoustic sets for small crowds. Ironically, Charlie, who is from Seoul, said that the last time he was here he dumped his girlfriend. At least it’s a nice place to get dumped.

The only time of day where it’s cool enough to do anything is 6am, so, in Hanoi, people gather around the small lake in the old town to work out. While the wide boulevard circling the lake serves as a 1/4-mile track for runners, the area is also spotted with congregations of old women practicing tai-chi with paper fans. However, in stark contrast to traditional tai-chi and far outnumbering the joggers are hundreds of middle-aged women doing some kind of Zumba in the adjacent square. They stand in grids doing fast-paced aerobics to techno, their arms outstretched and vigorously oscillating like a penguin trying different techniques to fly.

By mid-morning the traffic, which is 99% motorbikes, is in full swing and all the sidewalk cafes are packed with people drinking iced coffee or iced tea and sitting on toddler-sized wooden folding chairs that face out to the street. The traffic is memorizing. It’s a high-speed motorized version of people watching.

On one motorbike, a mother appears to be taking her two kids to school. The kids, in school uniforms, sit in front of their mother. The older child gets the front seat, as is his privilege, while the younger child remains squished between their sibling and mother. A large belt straps the three of them together (but not to the bike) keeping them safe or, at least, unifying their fate.

On another motorbike, a man is driving his sister or girlfriend to her office job. On the back of the bike, she is riding side-saddle, legs crossed in a knee-length skirt while she applies lipstick or checks her phone. She is wearing a helmet with a specialized hole on the back allowing her pony tail to protrude unobstructed.

For an Asian country, I was a surprised that people seem to leave work promptly at 5pm. Maybe that’s the benefit of communism? Either way, the sea of motorbikes rises again to high tide at quitting time as people leave work or pick up their children from school.

In the evenings, the sidewalks are packed with people enjoying glasses of beer. This time the furniture is toddler-size plastic chairs. As the beer isn’t refrigerated, a large pellet of ice is withdrawn from a camping cooler with tongs and added to the glass. Men cross the street to the grassy meridian to relieve themselves and then return to keep filling themselves up.

Back at the lake, the night air is cool, and people are exercising again. The evening is more mellow with ballroom or line dancing taking the place of Zumba.

French colonial building

Rooftop Bar

The Dream

Picking up kids from school

6AM and everyone is working out

The guy in the green: motor bike ride share — hop on the back like the bear

I spent the last two weeks driving around Scotland with my good friend Alex. We met in London, picked up a blue Audi A3, and promptly got used to driving on the lefthand side while making our way to Edinburgh.

After a couple days in the architecturally stunning capital, we went further north to a small town called Inverness. Inver is Gaelic for river mouth and Ness is the name of the lake, as in Loch Ness (Lake Ness). The town is situated at the opening of the river which drains Loch Ness. We followed the bank of Loch Ness through the glens to a grimy little hostel near the southern end of the great Loch.

The next day we toured around the Isle of Skye — it was absolutely gorgeous geography with a million little peninsulas and beautiful mountains. We also visited our first distillery, Talisker.

Getting back to the mainland we took a rest day in Oban — a picturesque village if there ever was one — and, in a fun little hostel built into an old church, I received a detailed history lesson from an older man who must have been Connery’s twin. Aye!

What should have been a 2 hour ferry ride to the Isle of Islay (Whisky distillery central!) turned into a 12 hour epic due to a ferry breakdown (we had to drive to another town, catch a different ferry that took a longer route, etc), but when we got to the B&B at quarter pass midnight, the owner poured us a wee dram and all our problems became as resolved as the 110 proof liquor heating our bellies.

On the Isle of Islay (eye-lah), we visited 5 distilleries in 24 hours, and it… was… good! Ardbeg, Bruichladdich, Laphroaig, Kilchoman, and Lagavulin. Side note: Scotch Whisky isn’t any cheaper at the source — there’s just bottles you can’t find in Canada.

To finish it off, we spent two days in Glasgow. Some people told me to skip Glasgow, but it was awesome. It’s more of a functioning city and less touristic than Edin-brah. We owe our great experience in Glasgow in no small part to Debbie (who I met in a hostel in Vienna a couple years back) and her partner Hamish — big thumbs up for random hostel friends. She took us to an open-mic night and wickedly hilarious comedy show with at least a dozen stand-ups.